Better
by FlopsyOllie
Summary: “We didn’t have to be over. Why didn’t you bother to call? Write letters? Something so I knew you were still alive?” Sellie


**Better**

_In case no one noticed, I live for Sellie, and I kill Emma in her sleep._

_This is fairly old, since I just got a program that works with fanfiction. I don't really like it very much. Still, I'd love to hear your opinion!_

I never expected anything to happen that day. It'd been hot, and I was sitting on a bench, snapping the elastic on my wrist. It was something I always did now, it never stopped. There wasn't anything even really wrong with me, it just happened. I had the sudden urges now and again, to bring a sharp object to my skin, even if it was three years later.

There were extras in my pocket, in case my current rubber band snapped. That happened sometimes. I just happened to be wearing a short sleeve shirt that day; it was good for my therapy, where I'd just come from. So I had to stare at my arms, both my arms, and the mess that I'd left there. A mess that would never go away, no matter how hard I tried.

The scars on my left arm went all the way up to my shoulder, in perfect, straight, horizontal lines. What can I say? I wanted a little perfection in my life, and aligning those scars just so seemed right. The scars on my right arm didn't go past my elbow, and they were much more jagged and messy, created in times of pain. Pain so powerful that I found it hard to think straight, to control myself. It was dark times when I had seen the bloody mess, and passed out from all the pressure. The pressure of being alive.

Fainting became a way of escape. A way to die, and then come back to life. But I only fainted when I was alone, and usually after I'd created another masterpiece on my body. It wasn't like there was anyone there to care, anyway.

That day, I'd been feeling like shit. I wanted to go home and cry, and bleed, and then faint. It was the only thing I knew how to do. I didn't even know why I was wasting my time sitting on a bench snapping my rubber band when I could actually be home, making those things happen. To ease the pain that washed around me, rose above my head, and swallowed me whole.

"Didn't expect to see you here," a voice said, and sat down next to me on the bench. At first, I didn't look up. They were probably talking to someone else. I just kept staring at my wrist as it turned a dark pink. But then I realized that it had to be me, there was no one else around, "I knew it was you, though. Didn't even see your face. Just your hair and the rubber band. That was enough to let me know."

"Sean?"

It was him, it couldn't be anyone else. I knew he was back, he'd been back, without speaking a word to me, might I add. I'd seen him from a distance, and that was enough to know that he'd came back for Emma, not me. Of course, I knew that our relationship had ended after the shooting, even though there was no contact between us. Still, I would've hoped that he at least thought about me, sometimes. Wondering what could've happened if everything didn't get screwed up. But it always gets screwed up for me. That's how it works.

"Ellie," he said, smiling. But the smile faded quickly, "I didn't know you still needed rubber bands. Or that you made your right arm match your left..."

"Yeah, things happen," I said, sighing, "You should be able to guess, knowing my life. People like to walk in and then leave on me, run back to familiar things."

I hoped he knew that I was talking about him, along with everyone else in the world.

"Are you… okay… now?" Sean asked. It was nice to know that he sort of cared enough to ask.

"Barely," I said. He looked away, "I know, not what you wanted to hear. But it's a day by day process. Even now."

There was an uneasy silence between us. I decided not to break it, because I could tell that Sean was thinking.

"How'd it happen again? You were doing so well…"

"I need support, Sean, or I'll never make it. You know that. You were my support for a while. And then you left, and I don't blame you, but that didn't help me."

"You cut because of me? It's my fault…?"

"Not entirely. It's mostly mine."

"But-"

"Trust me, okay? It's not you," I said, "It's not all you… It's my mother, my dad, everything. I always looked for something or someone to blame my life on, but then I realized that it was just me. It was my fault that everything happened, and I was the only one who could turn it around."

"Have you turned it around?"

"Sometimes," I said. The look on his face told me I needed to explain, "Sometimes, it feels like I did a one eighty. Sometimes, it feels like more of a three sixty. It just depends on the day."

"What about today?" Sean asked.

"Not sure yet…"

We were silent again. I had words tumbling around in my brain, resting on the tip of my tongue. They wanted out. Instead of a scream, the words came out more like a whisper.

"Did you really come back for her?"

"Who?"

"Emma," I said, staring as hard as I could at the ground, "Did you really come back for her?"

"I…" he started to say, but trailed off, "I thought I did."

"So… you just forgot about me?" I tried my hardest not to sound angry, or heartbroken.

"No," Sean said, placing a hand on my shoulder, causing me to look at him, "I could never forget about you. It's just… we were over. We'd been over. And I just…"

More silence. I sighed.

"We didn't have to be over. Why didn't you bother to call? Write letters? Something so I knew you were still alive?" I asked.

"If I remember correctly, you didn't write either."

"There was a note in the box with your junk," I said.

"I just didn't want to bug you. I didn't want to hurt you anymore… There was no way we could've stayed together like that, Ellie."

"I know."

"So I just wanted it to be a clean break, I guess. And I was kinda busy. Trying to realize all my wrong doings and whatever…"

"But we didn't need to just break it all," I said, "We didn't need to lose everything. We still could've been friends, Sean. I could've used a friend."

"You've got friends, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeah, but none of them get me like you did."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not looking for an apology. I just want you to understand."

Sean looked away. It was silent again. The silence was going to kill me.

I sighed, and gripped my wrist, "Things sure were different back then, huh?"

"Back when?" he asked. How could he be so stupid?

"When there was me and you."

"Yeah… a lot different. We were… well, we were crazy," Sean said, and laughed, "Two messed up kids who needed someone to be there… and there we were, right in front of each other the whole time."

"I was a little more crazy than you, huh? Still am," I said, and my eyes traveled down to my arms, "I always will be."

"Not as much as you think," he said, and smiled.

"Was it easier back then? When all we had to worry about was each other? And there were no shootings or… crazy cocaine addicts? Better?"

"Yeah, better."

I hesitated before my next question.

"Better than Emma?"

Sean looked at me, and grabbed my hand, just like we used to, lacing our fingers together.

"Better."


End file.
